A Darkness Resurfacing
by HushHushListen
Summary: Shortly after the Oblivion Crisis, the Dark Brotherhood falls apart. Accused of breaking the Five Tenants, the Listener himself is cast into the earth, where his body must rot into a new form while his soul remains. After two hundred years, he arises again, ready to take his place as the Listener. But Skyrim proves to be much different...as well as the Brotherhood itself.
1. Chapter 1

It's funny—I never thought that I, as an executioner, would be executed.

Being under the same curse for hundreds of years, waiting for the day when my soul would transfer to a new life is, admittedly, tiring work. While my body withered, decayed, and took its final resting place six feet under, somehow my life remained.

And here I am now, staggering on new legs, to my final and absolute death.

Guards—Imperials—surrounding me carry icy expressions on their faces as they roughly lead me and my bound wrists down a line of others "like me". Small pebbles and wooden shards dig into my bare feet and I look down, watching my steps as well as the other prisoners'. Though I'm not exactly sure what the rest of the lot did to deserve their punishment, somehow I feel I'm different from the rest of them.

Well, of course that part's true. They haven't been dead for the past two-hundred years.

"Halt, Dunmer. Do not speak unless spoken to."

My hands—bluish-grey and chafed from the ropes—catch my eye. I have to see them, for they remind me that I am now an elf, a true Dunmer by blood and flesh. It's different. Hundreds of years buried in the dirt has corroded my original Imperial flesh, my eyes, my blood.

"You, there."

They're not speaking to me; instead, the guards lock eyes with a man two people ahead of me—some sort of high-elf? Perhaps an Imperial? It's hard to tell, and I cannot hear their voice when they speak.

"What's your name?"

All that time in silence had left me immune to the piercing fear of death; so, quite frankly, I grow bored of the whole "execution" rigmarole quickly and stare at the back of some Nord's head in front of me. Grime and crusted blood stain his golden locks. Beneath my feet, a pebble shard digs painfully in my heel. I wish my feel hadn't lost their hard calloused layers in the whole "rebirth" process.

"You're up, Stormcloak."

Interestingly enough, it was a Nord who had uncovered my grave a mere twenty-four hours ago. How could this be? When the curse set upon my soul, my orders were thrust upon the members of my family—specifically, the Altmer named Arquen. Had she thought me a betrayer as well?

"You there, Nord! Step up!"

Anyway, the moment I arose squinty-eyed and trembling from my grave, a knife found itself in the belly of the Nord. Rusted and chipped as it was, it was mine own blade when I served in the Brotherhood, and pining for a kill. I would have had it yet…if these stupid guards hadn't taken it from my grasp.

A _thunk_ cuts through the soft murmurs and laughter of the guards, and the head of some man, Stormcloak, plops neatly into a brown wicker basket. Eh. Though the Nord in front of me begins to shift his weight nervously from foot to foot, I remain steady. I've seen too many murders, too many executions, to be fazed by such a simple thing.

"You there, Prisoner! You're next."

Curiously enough, I notice that the guard holding me has been staring at me the entire time. With a knife in one hand and my wrists in the other, he subtly bounces and fidgets, as if anxious. Figures. If he was truly a seasoned guard, he would have the stomach for these things. But there's some sort of "war" going on here—figures—and they need all the Imperial soldiers they can get.

As the Nord steps up to the plate for execution, I see the guard beside me trying to catch my eye. For once I feel lucky to be in Dunmer skin; when my red eyes stab through his, I can feel him flinch in his iron armor and his hand tighten on my wrist.

Then, he does something that even catches me off-guard. His eyes narrow slightly, countering my contempt gaze, and with his knife-hand, he holds the blade between two fingers and opens his palm. Five.

A powerful screech slices through the air as the next prisoner leans over the execution's slab. That makes everyone in the area flinch and gaze upwards, towards the source of the noise. But not the guard beside me. In a flash, he has his knife to my wrists, ready to slice my veins—  
—but instead, what I find him doing is frantically slicing the rope, sweat dripping down his temples, his voice heavy. The screeches grow louder, but by then he's cut the rope...

He raises his head and his breathing stops. All goes still, from the movement of the guards to the dust rising in the air. Then…

"LOOK OUT!" he shouts, and that's my cue to take off running, testing out my new legs—which, evidently, are not as good as I may have hoped. Screams erupt as a winged creature—wait, is that a _dragon_?—crashes into a building overhead.

What the hell have I missed in the last two hundred years?!

Stones peel away from the tower and crumble to the ground as the dragon launches itself into the air again, spreading its massive wings to create a shadow that nearly engulfs the entire area.

"YOU THERE, COME BACK!" I hear it piercing through the crowd, but there are too many other conflicting voices for anyone to take him seriously. I am inhaling knives as I run, knives that stab with a cold ferocity at my lungs and make it harder for me to breathe. A body runs across my vision; it's the Nord who was next in line for execution. He's running with another guard to safety. Figures.

As for myself, I dive into a haystack near the southern gate and shelter myself between some barrels. My breathing is so loud I fear it's echoing. But no; instead there are screams, screeches, stones falling effortlessly like sand on a dune. And I tremble. Because this is like nothing I experienced in Cyrodill. Because dragons are supposed to be dead. Because I am alone in a world I do not recognize.

_Hush, young one. Sleep now, and we shall rejoin again another day._

Her words brush over me like a gentle kiss, and I find my eyelids growing heavy. I cannot do otherwise. For now, all I can do is obey and wait for our day to come again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The darkness is too murky to see through, but I do not need my vision to know that the town I am resting in is in a ruin. It would be easy to say I'm only dreaming. I wish could I say I'm dreaming. In my fist is a scrap of hay; my knuckles are near-white, and the tendons over my knuckles are throbbing painfully from the force of my grip. Gods, if only I knew what's happening…

Silence swallows me. There's no crackle of a fire, no distant conversations—not even rustling in nearby bushes. This Imperial army has fled. Did the prisoners flee? Did the horses and messengers and stable boys get away? Or were they simply crushed or devoured by that…that…

Dragon.

My heart pumps ice that freezes my veins, and I grip the hay bale I lean against to steady my shaking frame. What did I leave behind? Do I even know this world anymore? Does it even know me? My cause? My name?

Surely they know my name. I am the Listener, after all. I am the Accursed Listener. For what, I dare not say. For what, I dare not remember.  
My head peeks from my resting place and golden straws of hay tumble from my black hair, dark as a gaping chasm. All I see are chunks of crumbled stone. That, and smatters of blood. The ice in my blood unfreezes, begins to bubble. I long for the blood. For the kill. For anything.

"Hello?" A cracked voice bounces off the remaining stone buildings; it is mine. Stabs of pain run through my lips, and when my fingers draw to them, I find they are cracked and bloody. I need water.

"Anyone there?" I cannot keep myself from checking for any sign of life. When my voice dies amongst the rubble once more, a pang of disappointment pulls through my heart strings. Have these two-hundred years actually turned this once-hardened heart?

As I'm still not used to my legs, walking proves difficult. My new thighs tremble under the weigh of my body, and I almost collapse several times. I can't help but trek through this scene with a certain hypersensitivity to my surroundings. The pebbles below my feet once were buildings. The blood staining those pebbles once belonged to people.

That goddamn dragon took away my victims.

"Ho, there!" A clear-cut baritone voice shaking from the volume sweeps the town. Suddenly, I am grounded into place. I've been taught in various forms of state-of-the-art, hand-to-hand combat…but gods, what's state-of-the-art if it's two-hundred years old?!

"Show yourself!" I scream in a cracked voice, but no response comes my way. Instead, I listen. Minutes pass like hours. Finally, I hear it: the steady clomping of horses. Louder. Louder.

My heart races. Something it hasn't done in centuries.

"Ho, there! Anyone about?"

It comes from the gate. I must rush to it!—But when I try, my body passes over my knees and I crumple to the ground. To hell with walking.

"You there!"

From my knees, I look up to the gates, and there he is. My godsend. His lantern bounces jovially and sends shadows scattering as it throws its light this way and that. I launch myself to my feet and almost topple, but I manage to keep my balance this time.

_He's big—a Nord, perhaps—strong, but not fast. You could take him in a heartbeat. Take his heartbeat in a heartbeat._

I stop. Yes, I could do that…

No. I need this fool, at least for a moment. Or at least his horses…

No, no—this wasn't Cyrodill. I didn't know the ins and outs of this distant land. Still, I stood back into the shadows, refusing to let my face me shown in the light.

"Traveler." Despite my decision not to kill him, I couldn't stop my silky tone from seeping into my voice; a trick I used to sway my victims. Some things never change, I suppose. "I beg for help. I was trapped when the city fell to ruin…"

Surprise fell over the man's face. In the darkness I could make out the sharp, distinct features of a Nord. Thank the gods he wasn't a guard. "You mean, you…you witnessed…_it_?"

Bile bubbles in the back of my throat. "Yes."

"My friend, you must tell me everything." He pats the wagon behind him and I jump in back, careful to steer clear from him. "Start from the beginning. What did it look like? Did it kill anyone? Skyrim will be abuzz with wonder soon enough, so I had to go see it for myself before…well, before they began the repairs." Through the darkness, I could see the man blush. "And before the other rumors, I suppose. What's your name?"

I open my mouth and immediately shut it, leaving my name to tingle the tip of my tongue, unspoken. Who is to trust?

Unless…unless this dolt is in on it too. The guard was. What would an Imperial guard be doing supporting the Brotherhood?

Instead of answering, I only hold up an open palm. He catches is this and laughs nervously, holding up his palm as well. "Hello, friend."

My lips curl over my teeth in a distorted-looking smile, and I manage to let out a chuckle. "Yes. Hello. My name is…Valen. Valen Ashtear."

"Ashtear, huh?" His shoulders noticeably tense when he turns. He squints, trying to make me out in the dark. "You're a Dark Elf?" he spits.

_Imperial_, I almost say, but catch myself. Clearly I am not who I was. "Yes."

The Nord turns quickly around and gruffly mutters, "Where do you want to go."

As much as I know I shouldn't get into some sort of predicament, now, when I really need someone, I cannot help myself. "Is there a problem?" It's hard not to coat my words in acid.

A moment passes between us like a thick glacier. Finally, he whirls around at me from his seat and says, a little slower now, "Nothing. Where do you want to go."

I clench teeth. "Wherever."

"Fine." With one tumultuous jerk of the wagon, we're off, and I slowly watch the ruined city fade off from my eyes. I cannot concentrate. Blood boils in my veins, hot like melted metal, and it pulls me into a fury. I think of all the ways I can kill him. I've been trained for this stuff. I could do it.

"So…" His tone comes out a little smoother now, but his edge hasn't disappeared. "Tell me about the dragon, Dark Elf," he says, as though I'm obligated to do so.

"Sure," I reply, struggling to maintain my voice. I toss a glance at the back of his head. "Of course, I shall tell you all about the dragons."

As the carriage pulls into the city, I cannot I help that sense of thrill from racing through my veins. Finally, a new city, a new journey! Now all I have to do is find the Brotherhood and they'll accept me into their home. But how would I go about getting information? Surely the citizens would be scared of my inquiries, and as of now I cannot afford even the slightest bit of distrust. Still, it makes my hands tremble with excitement.

While the carriage comes to a creaking halt, I notice a middle-aged woman with a lantern dangling from her hand. A look of horror slowly melts across her face as she comes closer. I sit still at my place.

"Wh-where is he?" she asks, her voice breaking. The light trembles as her hand does.

"Who?"

She ignores me. "Where is he?! He—he was a Nord, he drove horses…those exact horses….What have you done with him?!"

"My apologies, miss," I say, gripping the reins tighter. "I don't know what you mean. I've never seen a Nord on this path before."


End file.
